by Penny Reid
This couldn’t continue, eventually we’d have to move into the friend-zone or end our text messaging.
Simply put, if I valued my relationship with my brother at all then I couldn’t be with Sean. It was reality and it made me sad, which was why I found myself continuously trying to figure out ways to make Ronan accept us. If I told Ronan that Sean had never actually slept with Brona, then maybe he’d change his mind. Or perhaps if I found something they could both bond over they’d finally put all the bickering aside and become friends.
I know. I was living in a dream world.
Lucy: I’m great. Work is keeping me busy. You?
Sean: Exhausted. Just finished training. Eating dinner now.
Lucy: Oooh, what are you having?
He responded with a picture of a plate containing two steamed breasts of chicken, broccoli, aubergine, and a gigantic glass of some thick, beige smoothie.
Lucy: Ouch.
Sean: Yep. And when Coach McLaughlin told us to start doing running squats I nearly got hard. I think you’ve ruined me ;-)
Lucy: Omg, lol! Sorry.
Sean: Don’t be. Memories of us together are keeping me warm at night. I have this particular favorite of kneeling behind you on the carpet while you’re on all fours…
Lucy: Sean!
Sean: Lucy.
I put the phone down, fanning myself with the collar of my T-shirt, a tad overwhelmed by the imagery. I saw his hands gripping my waist, his head between my legs, tongue licking . . .
Focusing back on my work, I replied to a few comments on the blog and began answering a couple of emails, but my head wasn’t in the game. Sean was invading my every thought and it was driving me crazy. The frustration of being an ocean away—far beyond touching distance—was a new form of torture.
My phone buzzed again. I glanced at it, biting my thumbnail.
Sean: Are you still there?
Sean: I’ll be good. I promise.
Unable to help myself, I tapped out a quick reply.
Lucy: Are you capable of being good?
Sean: Yes. I’m always good.
Sean: You’re coming home next week for the wedding, aren’t you?
Lucy: Yes. I’m flying in on Tuesday.
Sean: We should meet up.
I closed my eyes for a second, swallowing as my tummy churned with anticipation. I knew I shouldn’t, but I really wanted to see him. Even so, I didn’t want to send mixed signals . . . well, I didn’t want to send any additional mixed signals.
Lucy: It’ll be a busy time. Got to plan Annie’s hen party and I’m also maid of honor.
Sean: I’m sure you can fit me in somewhere :-D
Lucy: Is that an innuendo?
Sean: Of course.
Lucy: Leave me alone, pervert. I’ve got work to do and you’ve got a whole lot of beige to drink :-P
Sean: Okay, but we should get together while you’re here. I’ll take you out to dinner and you can toss your drink in my face again, mock me for how I say “fam.”
Placing my phone down on the desk, I didn’t respond. He made me feel too many conflicting emotions and my confusion was exhausting. Instead, I opened up the folder on my laptop containing the itinerary for Annie’s hen night, happy for the distraction and smiling as I perused it.
I’d purchased a bunch of Where’s Wally jumpers and hats for us to wear, though Broderick was keen to inform me that he was known as Waldo in the States. I also booked an hour on a Pedibus around the city. It was going to be hilarious. After that we’d have dinner and karaoke at one of my favorite Japanese restaurants before heading out to Temple Bar for more drinks.
I chuckled because Mam was insisting on coming and I knew she’d hate every moment of it. Everything about the night was going to be ridiculous and sloppy, my favorite kind of fun, and her most hated.
Noticing the time, I let out a few choice swearwords as I realized I was late to meet Broderick for lunch at our usual spot. Throwing my hair up in a ponytail, I grabbed my coat and handbag before heading out.
I saw him as soon as I stepped inside, sitting at our favorite spot by the window, headphones on, a coffee and pastry in front of him. Shooting him a quick wave, I went to order some food while surreptitiously sliding a raisin and oat cookie into my pocket.
It was a common tactic: buy something to cover up that you’ve stolen another. I’d been doing the exact same thing for five afternoons in a row and I didn’t understand why. I knew it didn’t make things any better, but I’d even been giving the cookie to a homeless man who sat begging outside the café as I left. I thought I had a handle on my compulsion but it was coming back for some reason, even though I’d barely spoken to my mother in weeks.
The barista smiled at me, completely oblivious, as I dropped a ridiculous amount of coins in the tip jar, took my things and headed over to join my friend. Broderick pulled off his headphones as I sat, a heavy baseline blasting from the speakers.
“You’ll make yourself deaf listening to music so loud,” I said, picking up a knife and cutting into my scone.
“And you’ll get arrested if you keep stealing baked goods,” Rick answered back casually. “What’s the deal with that anyway?”
My eyes widened, my mouth opening slightly as I stared at him in disbelief.
“I . . . I, uh . . .”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Cat got your tongue?”
I leaned closer, whispering, “How did you see?”
“You’re not exactly the artful dodger, babe. Every time we come here you take the same damn cookie. At first I thought I was imagining things, but then you kept doing it over and over again.”
Letting out a sigh, I sat back, a terribly guilty look on my face. “It’s just this thing I do sometimes. It’s not a big deal.”
“Stealing is a big deal, Lucy. You’re not in Ireland now. New York is a whole other ball game, and if you get arrested here you’ll be facing a lot worse than a slap on the wrist and a call home to Mommy.”
I frowned, muttering under my breath, “No need to be an arsehole about it,” but then immediately regretted my words. I was the one being an arsehole. God, I hated myself for how I was acting.
“I’m only being an asshole because I care. So tell me? How long have you been doing this shit?”
Letting out a long sigh, I told him all about the beginnings of my strange habit, how it related back to my anxiety and pressure from my mother. She’d never been a particularly loving parent, but her belittling behavior only really started in full-force after I turned eighteen. I was an adult by then, starting to follow my own path in life, a path that didn’t reflect the one she foresaw. I ended my story by telling him how I’d been successful in quitting shoplifting until recently.
“Huh,” said Broderick, a thoughtful look on his face.
“That’s all you’re going to say?”
“No, that’s not all. What’s changed in the last couple of weeks?”
“I don’t understand.” I folded my arms defensively.
“Of course you do. What’s changed that’s caused you to slip back into old habits? There has to be something.”
I scrunched up my brow, wracking my brain until it finally hit me.
It was so bloody obvious.
Sean had gone home. I’d had amazing sex and a scarily intense connection with this big, handsome, incredible man with the word “forbidden” stamped on his forehead and then poof, he left, leaving my life feeling empty without him.
“I know that look,” said Rick. “You’ve figured it out, haven’t you?”
“Maybe.”
“And . . .”
“And it’s none of your business,” I snapped, surprising even myself with how snippy I was. I’d never spoken to him like that before. Never. How on earth had the loss of Sean Cassidy turned me into such a sour old shrew?
Rick gave me a look that was all, fine, have it your way, and I sighed, feeling guilty yet again.
“I’m sorry. I’m being horribl
e.”
“You don’t want to talk about it, believe me, I understand. But think about seeing someone, a therapist or a counselor who can talk things through with you. It’ll do you the world of good, I promise.”
I sighed and fiddled with a sugar packet. “Actually, I tried that once. It didn’t end so well.”
“No?”
Shaking my head, I answered, “Nah. Mam found out about it and kicked up a fuss, thinking people would discover I was a klepto and it’d tarnish Ronan’s reputation. She forbade me from going to any more sessions after that.”
Broderick frowned like he thought my mother was a mental case, which she wasn’t. She was just overly concerned about what the neighbors would think, concerned in the extreme.
“I don’t know what to say, Luce. That’s fucked up, and I’m certain Ronan wouldn’t give a damn about his rep if he knew his sister was getting the help she needed.”
“Yeah well, that’s my mother for you, always worrying about Ronan. He’s the one who keeps her in designer handbags and weekly blow-dries after all,” I said, my intended humor falling flat.
A small trace of his frown remained as he reached over to squeeze my hand. “If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m right here, okay?”
I gave him a wide smile. “You’re my best friend, have I told you that lately?”
He grinned and winked. “No need. I’m entirely aware of my brilliance.”
Chapter Sixteen
@BroderickAdams $350 for a Guns N’ Roses ticket? I think not, Saul Hudson, I think not.
@LucyFitz to @BroderickAdams Whaaa? Does it come with a striptease from a 1988 Axl Rose?
@BroderickAdams to @LucyFitz LMAO.
*Lucy*
It was exactly three weeks to the day after my last cookie thievery that Broderick and I arrived at JFK for our flight to Dublin. Being such a good friend of Annie’s, he was coming to the wedding, too, and I was looking forward to forcing him into joining us girls for the hen night.
Sean and I had continued to swap text messages. With each exchange I grew increasingly confused and . . . involved. Two weeks ago I’d taken a picture of my cup and sent it to him because the person had spelled my name Loosey instead of Lucy.
Lucy: I demand you change my contact information to Loosey on your phone. It is now my name.
Sean: If you want me to, I’ll fly over to NYC and beat the shit out of the guy who wrote that on your cup.
Lucy: You don’t think it’s funny?
Sean: No one calls my girl loose.
The next day he sent me a picture of his coffee cup; the barista had written a phone number on the side. I felt a pang of jealousy until he texted.
Sean: At least you get a word. They’ve assigned me a number. Just call me Jean Valjean.
Sean: And yours is “loosely” based on your name.
Sean: See what I did there? ;-)
Lucy: I can’t even with you. How do you know who Jean Valjean is?
Sean: Everyone knows 24601. ;-)
Lucy: Random thought. If everyone winked as much in real life as they do on social media and in text messages, the world would be a much creepier place.
Sean: I’d send you a “I’d love to lick your pussy” emoticon, but my iPhone doesn’t have one.
Lucy: Those Apple engineers have seriously been sleeping on the job
Lucy: ;-)
Sean: Ah yes, embrace the creepy winking. ;-)
Those everyday—because now we were messaging every day, all day—conversations were confusing because they were friendly, but they were often much more than friendly. Yet neither of us made any attempt to call the other. And the lack of resolution had me feeling like a mixed-up basket case.
Hence my current airport crime spree.
“You got something up your sleeve?” Broderick asked several seconds after I’d slipped a tube of lipstick up there.
How the hell had he seen?
“What?” I asked, frazzled.
Rick smirked. “You’ve got this mischievous expression going on. Tell me what you’re up to.”
I exhaled heavily in relief and lifted a shoulder. “Just looking forward to introducing you to all my girlfriends in Dublin. They’re going to absolutely adore your accent.”
He didn’t react how I expected him to, instead he frowned and perused a bottle of men’s cologne. “Oh, right.”
I chuckled. “Don’t get too excited or anything.”
“I’m excited,” he said in the least excited voice ever.
“Oh my God! Broderick Thelonious Adams, you’re seeing someone, aren’t you?”
He shrugged and attempted to look unconcerned. “I knew I’d regret telling you my middle name. And no, I’m not seeing anyone.”
“Your dad named you after Thelonious Monk, that’s a bloody cool middle name. But seriously, you’re not hiding a girl somewhere?”
“You got me. Smuggled her in my suitcase. Don’t tell airport security.”
I gave him a narrowed-eyed grin just before my phone started ringing. My heart pounded for a second, like it always did as I wondered if it might be Sean. But no, I pulled it out to see my mam’s number flashing on the screen.
Taking a few steps outside the cosmetics section of the duty free, I lifted the phone to my ear and answered.
“Hi Mam. I’m just at the airport now. We’ll be boarding our flight soon.”
“Lucy, what’s all this I’m hearing about you staying at Ronan’s house?” she asked in a shrill voice.
I sighed and closed my eyes for a second, wishing away this entire conversation. “It’s just easier since I’m Annie’s maid of honor and everything. There’s going to be a ton of last-minute stuff to organize. And we’ll be staying at the K Club from Thursday onward, so it’s not like it matters much either way.”
“Yes, well, you could’ve at least let me know. I had Bernie make up the spare bedroom and everything, thinking you’d be staying with me, then I have to hear from your brother that you’re not. Nobody tells me anything these days,” she said, a note of disdain to her words as she tried to affect a hurt tone. Bernie was her housekeeper, though she called him her manservant. You’d swear she’d been born with a silver spoon in her mouth and not to the humble beginnings she’d actually had.
“I’m sorry. I would have told you but it completely slipped my mind. Things have been crazy busy over here.”
“Of course they have. I suppose you’ve been spending every waking minute working in front of a computer, not giving a thought to your poor, neglected social life. If you stay indoors all day you’ll get a terrible, pasty complexion, Lucy.”
Good Lord, she had no idea what I did all day, nor how half my work involved chasing after celebrities with a camera in hand.
“I’m sure I’ll be doing enough socializing at the wedding to make up for it,” I said in an effort to placate her.
Now her voice grew animated. “Speaking of which, there’s someone I’ve just been dying for you to meet—”
“Oh, they’re calling for my flight to board,” I said, interrupting her. “I’ve got to go but I’ll call you as soon as we land.”
Hanging up, I exhaled a breath, anxiety building at the idea of being forced to meet a bunch of “suitors” at the wedding that my mother happened to approve of. The funny thing was, she’d probably be head over heels for Sean, even though his past history with Ronan was a mess.
Speak of the devil, the moment I ended the call my phone buzzed with an incoming text.
Sean: I’ll meet you at the airport and take you for breakfast?
My heart thudded at his suggestion, and I hated how text messages never conveyed the tone in which things were said. Like, was it a casual, can I meet you at the airport? Or an urgent, I will meet you at the airport!
Was he asking because he was desperate to see me as soon as I stepped foot on Irish soil, or was he simply trying to be helpful?
Gah! I hated the uncertainty of this feelings business. Hated it
. I suddenly understood why Buddhist monks were celibate. You couldn’t find Zen when you were all muddled up in the head. Sex just complicated everything.
Lucy: Annie and Ronan are meeting us. But thanks for offering. It was very kind.
Directly after I sent the text I regretted everything about it, because reading it back, I sounded cold and detached. I should have tacked a bloody smiley face on the end or something, a few kisses maybe.
Sean didn’t respond, and by the time I was sitting on the plane I had a brand new toothbrush, eye cream, a hair clip, and a packet of chewing gum in my carry-on bag—not a single one of them paid for.
My guilt was the cherry on top. I wished I could go back and return everything, tell the shop workers I was sorry. But no, life didn’t give you second chances like that, and if I went back I’d be arrested. I was a bloody mess.
As soon as we landed in Dublin, I checked my phone to see Sean had left me a new text.
Sean: I don’t want to make things hard for you with your brother.
I frowned at the message, trying to decipher the deeper meaning—if there was a deeper meaning. My concentration, however, was fractured when we stepped through the arrivals gate and were met with a dour-faced Ronan and an unusually quiet Annie.
They each hugged me and Broderick before we walked to the car park, but I sensed something was up. When we were finally buckled into the car, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Okay, spill the beans. What’s going on with you two?”
My brother’s hands fisted the steering wheel and Annie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Ronan met my gaze through the rear-view mirror.
“Your future sister-in-law took it upon herself to invite Sean Cassidy to both my stag party and the wedding,” he said. And my heart stilled.
“You’ve invited every other member of the team, Ronan. Think of how poor Sean would feel being left out,” Annie put in, a pleading tone to her voice.
Ronan snickered. “This is assuming the bloke actually has feelings, which he doesn’t, so it’s a non-issue.”